


Apart

by Embarassedbutkinky



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Death, F/M, Falling In Love, Ghosts, Haunting, Murder, Pining, Supernatural Elements, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embarassedbutkinky/pseuds/Embarassedbutkinky
Summary: Vegeta died in his apartment two years ago, and he's been trapped there since. He refuses to allow anyone to move into his space, and does all he can to scare them away. Then a certain blue-haired heiress makes herself right at home, and makes him reconsider his idea of what 'life after death' means. When his feelings for Bulma change and they realize how much they mean to each other, they will do almost anything to be together...Based on my old one shot, Stuck.
Relationships: Android 18/Krillin (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all,
> 
> I am a few chapters into this story, but I have most of it outlined and think I'll be able to move right along with updates. I always really liked the concept for Stuck, but after I got the one shot out I didn't feel like it was continuable. Thanks to Blackswan22 for betaing the first chapter and listening to me ramble about this fic!
> 
> Thanks,
> 
> EBK

As Vegeta walked down the brisk street with his peacoat turned up against the wind, he had no idea it was the last night of his life. Had he known, he might have savored it. Perhaps he would have taken his coat off and let the light snowfall land against his skin, still dirty from work, and felt the weak flakes melt and run down his muscled arms. He missed the opportunity, taking the cold for granted as he reached the awning of his small apartment complex.

He stomped on the cement to rid his shoes of snow before he stepped on the bottom stair. It squeaked, badly, a repair issue he'd raised already. He trudged up the narrow stairs to the second floor. His apartment building only had four addresses, and only two were ever available for rent. The one directly below him was empty, used only for storage he had heard. His landlady lived next to it. She was a loud, short woman whom he tried to avoid when he could.

Vegeta heard a slight squeak on the stairs behind him and spun around, hand going automatically to the pocketknife in his jacket. The raven-haired woman behind him jumped, placing a hand over her heart.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."

Vegeta relaxed, nodding to her wordlessly as he continued up the stairs. He knew his next door neighbor's name, 'Chichi', and that was already more information than he wanted from her. He had nothing in particular against the woman. Her apartment was mostly quiet, and she never bothered him, which as far as he was concerned made her better than most human beings.

He made it to his door and pushed his key in the lock just as she passed behind him. Chichi paused, keeping a short distance away. "Did Baba get ahold of you?"

"Hmm?" He grunted. "No. I haven't seen her."

"They're shutting the water off tomorrow for a few hours," Chichi said. "Her brother is going to do some work in my bathroom around four."

"That's fine," he said simply. He worked only a few blocks away as a bartender, and he would have left the house shortly before four anyway. He wondered for a brief moment why Chichi was out so late, but pushed it out of his mind. He didn't care.

Chichi smiled mildly, and he heard his name for the last time in his life. "Have a good night, Vegeta."

"Yeah," he said dismissively, closing his door behind him.

Vegeta locked the door and tossed his keys onto his coffee table. He pulled his coat off and hung it behind the door as he flicked on a single lamp. His apartment was beautiful, spacious, and really more than he needed. The small foyeur led into a wide living room and kitchen. Down a short hallway to the left was an under-decorated bathroom, and just beyond it the master bedroom. 

He walked to his kitchen and cooked his last meal; sauteed mushrooms, onions, and beef. He turned his television on low for noise, eating his food alone at his coffee table. He showered with steaming hot water, one decision he would not regret later. Of all the opportunities he had passed up that night, he would always be happy he at least decided to shower before bed.

He went to bed just before three in the morning, after doing his normal fifty pushups on his bedroom floor. Usually he'd turn his fan on right before he went to sleep, but shortly after he turned it on that night, the motor went dead. He'd wonder about that too. ' _ Would I have heard anything if my damn fan wasn't broken?' _

Regardless, at three forty-seven in the morning, Vegeta heard a noise. He was a light sleeper, always had been, and when his eyes snapped open he was unsure what exactly had startled him awake. He may have been able to drift back to sleep, but a moment later he heard it again. Something fell to the floor on the apartment below him.

He frowned. He had never heard so much as a peep before from below his place. Maybe this was normal and the sound from his fan usually covered it? He heard it again.

It was rodents, probably. His eyes darted to the baseball bat next to his bed.  _ Probably _ rodents.

Being the only male in the apartment complex didn't give him some moral obligation to protect Chichi and the old lady from potential burglars, did it? Assuming there was a break-in, the intruders probably wouldn't start with his place after they discovered there was nothing of value in the empty one. They'd probably start with the other bottom floor apartment. Baba was damn near seventy, and hard of hearing…

Vegeta cursed softly, sitting up and flicking on his bedside light. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants, and he threw a long-sleeved shirt from his laundry basket on just as a slight protection against the cold. He didn't plan to be out long. He would just go downstairs, assure himself that no one had broken in, and then go back to bed. He took the baseball bat with him, thinking at the very least that if it was racoons or something he could scare them away.

He slipped on a pair of old work boots without socks, not even closing his apartment door as he walked across the short landing and headed downstairs. He made it only a few steps before he heard a whispering voice, coming from below.

"I said quiet, Fool! Do you want to wake the whole damn neighborhood?"

Vegeta froze. He should have turned around, then. He could have gone back to his apartment, called the police, and locked the door. But the persuasive thrill of adrenaline spiked through his veins. Although Vegeta was in excellent shape and had sparred frequently at his local gym, he'd never been in a  _ real _ fight. He certainly didn't have a cheery disposition to blame that on, he simply avoided contact to such a degree that he rarely got into conflicts. Even at the bar he tended, belligerent patrons would suddenly calm down when he stepped from around the bar and they realized the man they'd been antagonizing had arms like logs.

_ Local man beats the shit out of idiot burglars.  _ He liked the sound of that. He could peek, at least, and if there were too many of them he would go back upstairs. He gripped the bat, easing down the stairs much slower than before. He carefully stepped over the last stair, avoiding the worn wood that might give away his presence.

From the bottom of the steps, Vegeta could see the apartment door was slightly ajar. There was light from inside, and the quiet sound of movement. He held his breath, listening closely to see if he could count the voices.

"How long, Boss?" A gravely voice said quietly.

"At least a few years," a silky one answered.

" _ Years _ ?" The first voice scoffed. 

A third man laughed. "Just think of it as an investment, Dodoria."

"Will we need to move it?" The silky voice asked.

"No," the third voice responded. "She won't come in here. Even if she did, she wouldn't see anything unless she dug around."

_ Three men _ . Vegeta grimaced. That might be too many. He heard a cold click, and he knew what it was.  _ Guns.  _ He stepped back, ready to make it upstairs and call the police.

The apartment door opened. He might have made it back up the stairs without being seen. He might have escaped. But when that door opened, he flinched. He stepped backwards, his body automatically trying to get to safety. His heel hit the bottom step.

A pregnant pause struck the cold night as two men at the door caught sight of him. Later, he would remember this scene as if he had hours to memorize it. The taller man was lean, clean shaven, long light hair pulled back from his face to reveal bright earrings. A look of shock marred his young face; he was as surprised to see Vegetas as Vegeta was to see him.

The shorter man had no such illusion of innocence about him. His eyes made contact with his victim's without malice. This wouldn't be personal.

Vegeta ran.

He slipped, once, on the top step, and imagined falling down the stairs, crashing into his pursuer. It didn't happen that way. He just had to make it to his door, lock it, and call for help. He crossed his threshold for the last time.

Vegeta slammed the door shut, but the side of a steel toed boot was shoved into the opening before it could close. Vegeta grabbed his phone from the receiver, dialing 911.

The door slammed open, and Vegeta looked up.

His murderer wasn't angry. In any other circumstance, Vegeta would brush right past the man without a further thought. His well-tailored suit was unruffled, his shoe barely scuffed from the door. Short, purple hair sat perfectly styled above his narrow, pale face. He had something close to pity in his eyes as he raised his firearm level with Vegeta's heart.

"Rest well."

The gunshot echoed throughout the complex. He felt no pain at first, only watching the world tilt as he fell backwards onto his carpet. He was colder than the night outside, and he couldn't catch his breath.

His phone connected, and he could hear a voice offering help through the line. His murderer had left already, making it down the stairs and off the property long before anyone saw him or his two associates. Vegeta laid still, and he felt warmth spreading along his back.  _ Blood, blood, have to stop it… _

He heard a scream, and he rolled his eyes over to the door. He saw Chichi standing there in a bathrobe, eyes wide and mouth open. Her lips moved, and he saw her grab his dangling phone, but he heard nothing. He closed his eyes, needing to rest.

\---------------------

He forced his eyes open. This was no time to rest, he needed to get help. He sat up, not feeling any pain. Perhaps he was wrong; he hadn't been shot at all. He reached for his phone, but it wasn't next to him. Right, Chichi had picked it up. Maybe she asked for an ambulance or the police. He looked around for her.

She sat on his couch, not far away, but the phone wasn't in her hands. Chichi wore her hair up, no longer clothed in only a bathrobe, but in jeans and a t-shirt. He frowned, not understanding when she would have had time to get changed, but he pushed it out of his mind.

"Are the police coming?" He asked, taking a step toward her.

Chichi didn't answer him. She held something in her hands, and she was staring at it with bleary eyes.  _ She must be in shock,  _ he thought.  _ She's never been in an emergency.  _

"Chichi, answer me," he snapped, trying to break her out of her daze.

She didn't acknowledge him.

He growled, getting angry, and stalked over to her. This was important, he didn't have time to deal with this woman's mental breakdown. He froze when he saw what was in her hands.

_ His _ photo album.

His mouth dropped open in shock. "What the fuck are you doing?" He snapped. "That's mine! You're just fucking going through my stuff?"

The third time she ignored him, he'd had enough. He swung his arm down, planning to rip his possession from her hands and demand she leave. He'd deal with the situation on his own and just wait for the police.

His hand passed uselessly through the album, swinging out the other side.

He tried to convince himself that he'd missed, though he was damn sure he hadn't. He grabbed at it again, but it was like touching air. He took a step back, panic rising in his throat.

Sunlight poured in through his windows where there had been only darkness minutes before. He glanced back at the floor he'd been laying on. A very large, deep, dry stain marred the carpet. Too big, far too big. He felt at his chest, trying to remember.  _ I'm fine, I'm here, I couldn't still be here if I was-- _

"Chichi, Dear," a short woman said from the doorway. She held a box in her squat arms, and it was only now that Vegeta looked around his living room. His books, his phone, his wallet and keys and anything light enough to carry was gone. Only his furniture and lamps remained, all switched off so that only the natural sunlight lit the space.

Vegeta took a step toward her. "Baba, can you see m--"

"Oh, sorry," Chichi sniffled, talking over him. "I just… needed a moment."

Their landlady sat the box down and came to pat her on the shoulder. "Oh, Honey, I didn't realize you and Mr.Prince were so close."

Chichi shook her head sadly. "We weren't. That's what really gets me. I lived next door to the man for two years, and I barely knew him at all."

"He wasn't really the neighborly type," Baba assured her. 

"I know, but… I just assumed that he had  _ someone _ . I thought he had people in his life that we just hadn't met. A mother, a sibling, a girlfriend, just  _ someone _ ."

Baba set her jaw, looking over Chichi's shoulder at a worn photograph. "I didn't know about his family. When he moved in he just said he had none in the area, not that they… I didn't know either."

Chichi shook her head sadly. "Three people at his funeral, and one of them was his boss. Poor man. I couldn't imagine feeling so alone at the end."

"Fuck, fuck," Vegeta spat, yelling in their faces. "Hey! I'm here! Look at me! I can't be dead, I'm right here!"

"I think I'll keep this, if that's okay?" Chichi asked Baba, holding up the album. “I just don’t feel right donating something that obviously meant a lot to him. There’s hardly anything personal here, but this was right on his nightstand."

"Of course, Dear," Baba said, grabbing the box of his things and carrying them out through the front door.

"Hey!" Vegeta said, following after her.

As soon as he touched the threshold, an invisible wall stopped him. He stood at the entrance, trying to step beyond his doorway, but he couldn't budge an inch.

"Baba?" Chichi asked, following her past the doorway and beyond Vegeta's reach. He made one last useless grab for his photo album.

The woman stopped to look back at her.

"The baseball bat we found… do you think he was trying to help protect us from something?"

Baba shifted uncertainly. "I don't know, Dear. You can certainly think that if you want."

"I was you old  _ witch _ !" Vegeta screamed at her. The door swung shut. Their voices faded down the stairs. He could see his fist pound against the door, but it made no noise. "Did they stop him or what? Get back here! I'm not dead! I'm not dead!"

He screamed until he was hoarse, or until he thought he'd be hoarse. His will gave out before his voice, but his throat didn't ache. He wasn't hungry, or tired, or cold, but he craved them all.

He sat on his couch in the dark, and after a while, he started replaying his last day in his mind. 

Then he did it again.

\--------------------

Opportunistic bastards, all of them.

The first couple that tried to move in wasn't even subtle about it. Baba had been inside his apartment a few times that week, scrubbing at the blood stain he'd left just inside of the door with bleach. Unbeknownst to her, Vegeta had laid dramatically on the stain, yelling at her uselessly.

"Oh, you missed a spot. Do you want me to move my  _ cold dead hands _ out of your way? Unbelievable. I paid three months rent in advance, you should at least wait that long," he groused, ignoring the fact that she had obviously paid for some of his funeral expenses. He didn't feel like being reasonable, and talking at her was more entertaining than talking to himself when no one was around.

That was the worst of it, the boredom. He'd been content to wallow in self pity on his blanket-less bed for a few days, but eventually he had to get up. He examined his home-turned-prison, much more closely than he ever had before. With nothing else to do, he'd started counting. Now he knew there were seven vents in the whole place, with twenty slats each, except for the one in the bathroom which had eighteen for some reason. Three small cracks in the ceiling, five windowless curtains, six rusty hinges, and one bored, bored man.

Baba showed his apartment a few days later to a young couple. Vegeta walked behind them, considering what it might be like to have these unwitting roommates thrust upon him. They would do  _ something _ at least, to break up the boredom, and he could watch them. They were interested, and Baba ran down to her apartment to get paperwork, leaving them alone in the place with Vegeta.

"Not bad," the young man said as he wandered into the bathroom to test the water pressure.

"And you can't beat the price," the woman shivered, opening the medicine cabinet to look at the space. "Even if it's for a terrible reason. Do you think we'd be safe here?"

The man shrugged. "So some guy died here, who cares? The newspaper said it was an unknown assailant, but nine times out of ten it's somebody the victim knows. The poor bastard was probably on drugs and owed some money, or maybe it was an ex. Hell, if it gets us a good deal, something good came out of it."

Vegeta's mouth dropped open. Now he had his answer, the man who had shot him had  _ not _ been caught. And these vultures were going to use his death to get cheap rent. Rage he'd never felt before bubbled up through him, a scream of indignation ripping through his throat.

The woman closed the medicine cabinet and let out a small scream, dropping her purse.

The man turned around. "What's wrong?"

She spun around and looked directly where Vegeta was standing. "In the mirror, for just a second I saw… it's haunted. This place is haunted."

The man snorted. "You're just letting the history get to you."

"Bullshit!" The woman snapped. "I know what I saw! He was  _ right here _ and he looked pissed. I will  _ not _ live here with an angry ghost!"

"You're being dramatic--" he started, just as Baba walked in.

The young woman cut him off. "Ma'am, the man who died here, was he short with big hair?"

Baba blinked. "Um, a bit, yes--"

"Nope," the woman said, heading towards the front door. "I'm out."

Her partner pursued her, trying to talk her back into the apartment, but it was no use. Vegeta followed them to the front door and listened as best he could, but they were soon out of earshot.

Now that he had a moment to take inventory, he realized he was  _ exhausted _ . Not in a way that told him he needed sleep, which he seemed to be incapable of doing now, but every part of his being felt weighed down and drained. He flopped down onto the floor, head lolling back as he fought to catch breath he didn't need.

She had seen him. It was just for a moment, and it left him feeling like he'd been hit by a truck, but she had seen him standing there in the mirror. If he tried hard enough, he could make his feelings about the bastards trying to encroach on his space known.

He smirked. No one was ever going to move into this apartment.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

\-------------

Vegeta felt like a kid at Christmas as he stood at the window, just waiting. Baba had gotten into the habit lately of coming in to dust the day before she showed his apartment to someone new, still clinging to the hope of renting it out after two years of failed attempts. He'd come to love 'Haunting Days'. It broke up the monotony of his existence, and it gave him something to look forward to. He'd been practicing a few particularly nasty tricks for whoever walked through the door with Baba today.

Finally,  _ finally,  _ he heard the key turn in the lock. He waited with a grin, but it wasn't Baba who walked through the door. It was Chichi. His grin faltered, interest immediately piqued. She hadn't been in his actual apartment for a long time now, but he'd become her reluctant stalker in some ways. He couldn't see her door from his window, but he at least could watch her walk up and down the steps a few times a day. Sometimes if he listened closely at their shared wall he could hear low snippets from her television, cursing his luck that her quietness he'd appreciated in life meant not being able to hear much from her after his death.

He didn't have to listen carefully on days when the  _ oaf _ was over. Shortly after his death, Chichi had begun to bring a man home, a great big dolt that laughed too loudly and turned the volume way up on her electronics. Vegeta wanted to hate him, and knew he was the sort of person he would have never had anything to do with when he was alive, but he could sit in his bedroom on those nights and enjoy whatever the man was listening to. He looked forward to those nights, while hating the man himself for being so different from him, leading to a weird love-hate relationship on his part. He had never heard Chichi say his name, but the oaf wore a jacket with the company name 'Kakarot Towing', so he directed his ire at that name in its place.

"Come on in," Chichi said nervously to someone beyond the door, standing right over the place his bloodstain had once been. "But I did warn you."

A woman walked in after Chichi, taking off a stylish pair of sunglasses and looking over his living room with excited eyes. "Wow, there's some decent space in here. You're right, it looks just like yours, and I  _ love _ your floor plan."

"The bathroom is on the opposite side, Bulma," Chichi said nervously, shifting her weight to her other foot. "If mine is really perfect for you, maybe you should just wait for me to move next month?"

"No way, I'm about to claw my foot off trying to get out of my parents' place. Oh, a kitchen island! I've always wanted one of those," she said, striding across the carpet to check out the countertop.

"You don't  _ cook _ ."

"I'm trying to learn," Bulma laughed, setting her purse down on the counter.

"I don't  _ get _ it. You could afford any apartment in the city, why do you want this one?"

"Because it's so close to home," Bulma said, smile fading a bit. "Dad's not… not doing too well," she said finally.

Chichi put a hand on her heart. "Oh, Honey, I had no idea."

"We're keeping it quiet, at his request," she said. "Our stock prices would tank if people knew. I want to be close to him, but… I just need a little space, you know? He's got a few years left, and I can practically see his office from the balcony here. Is it really such a bad place to live?"

" _ My _ apartment is fine," Chichi muttered. 

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Not this again. Chichi, I'm a woman of science. Ghosts aren't  _ real _ ."

"I'll show you who's real, Bitch," Vegeta said, snorting with a grin. He didn't care what her 'reasons' for intruding were. Chichi had already said she was moving and that her friend could have her place, and he decided that would be fine. He didn't want the place next to him vacant too long, and maybe this woman was louder or more entertaining. However, she sure as hell wouldn't be staying in  _ his _ apartment.

Vegeta took a deep breath, focusing all his energy into his hand, and then he shoved her purse down off the counter.

Chichi screamed, covering her mouth and stepping back. 

Bulma laughed. "Chichi, calm  _ down _ . It just fell."

"No it didn't," Chichi shook her head. "It was Vegeta. I  _ hate _ coming in here. I'm sorry, Vegeta, we'll get out."

"Speak for yourself," Bulma snorted. She pulled out a stool and plopped down on it. "It'll take more than an uneven countertop to scare me off."

Vegeta chuckled. This one would be fun. He'd have her racing back to her car in minutes. He strode over to the spot where he had died, deciding to ration the rest of his strength into doing his new trick. He pressed his hand against the carpet, closing his eyes and concentrating hard.

They talked for a few minutes before either of them saw it. Chichi was only starting to agree with Bulma that maybe, perhaps, she could rent this place, when she caught sight of the carpet by the door. She slapped a hand over her mouth, gasping.

The deep bloodstain was back, marring the otherwise pristine carpet. Vegeta stepped back and admired his handiwork, crossing his arms. This would get the blue haired 'woman of science' to head for the hills.

"That was already there," Bulma said immediately. "We just couldn't see it from the door because out eyes had to adjust."

"It was  _ not _ ," Chichi insisted. "And besides, Baba scrubbed it out."

"Well there you go, stains come back if you don't do it right. She probably didn't use enough bleach, or it's been so long that the stuff below the surface bled through."

"Bulma, you're insane," Chichi muttered, shaking her head.

"Hey, let's get you back in your place," Bulma said, coming around the island to pat her friend on the back. "I think you just get a little worked up thinking about the man who lived here, it had to be a rough night for you."

"Sure. Maybe," Chichi nodded, letting Bulma lead her back towards the door. 

"Go on and start us some tea, I'm just going to take a quick tour of the rest of the place on my own, okay?"

"O-okay," Chichi shivered. Bulma closed the door after her, leaving herself in the apartment alone with Vegeta.

He frowned as he followed her, already panting from how much energy he'd exerted to try and frighten her. Maybe he had enough in him for a 'thump' against the wall? He doubted it, but he could try.

Bulma opened the closet to check the storage space before she spoke aloud to a seemingly empty apartment.

"Okay, here's the deal, Buddy. You got me. I  _ do _ believe in ghosts," she swung the closet door shut. "I  _ super _ believe in ghosts. But guess what? I'm not  _ afraid _ of ghosts. There hasn't been a single case recorded in history of a ghost killing  _ anyone _ . That makes you about as dangerous a mild case of silverfish. If all you can do is push some shit down and make stains on my carpet, I'll just get a cat. I'll never know the difference."

Vegeta gaped at her, frozen in place.

Bulma grabbed her purse and headed for the door. "Oh, and another thing, don't scare Chichi, you  _ asshole. _ She's a total sweetheart, she doesn't deserve that shit. Unless your parlor tricks include making my checks bounce, I'm moving in. See you soon."

She shut the door, leaving him to stare at it in stunned silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Blackswan22 for the betaing work and listening to me rant 😅. Thanks guys,
> 
> EBK

Vegeta was laying on the kitchen counter when he heard the front door unlock. He shot up from it immediately, hopping down and running to see who would walk in. He gathered his energy in his hands. He'd decided the only way to stop this woman from barging in was going to be pushing her out. One good shove out onto the porch ought to do it, ought to convince her he was more dangerous than silverfish.

It wasn't Bulma who opened the door. A large man pushed it in, and then grabbed a heavy chair and carried it over the threshold with ease.

"Kakarot?" Vegeta asked, narrowing his eyes at the man. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Thanks, Goku," Bulma said, coming in after him. "I swear that's the heaviest thing we have to move. Baba gave me a great deal on all the furniture."

Vegeta snorted. "Goku is a stupid name. Your name is Kakarot, Moron."

"No problem," Goku smiled, stretching. "No point in having muscles if you don't use them."

Bulma carried her first box to the coffee table and sat it down, and Chichi stuck her head in the front door. "Could I maybe… leave the boxes right here? Then you guys could carry them in?"

Bulma smiled at her pityingly. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable, Chichi. I'm just glad for the help."

She gulped."You… you're right, I'm being silly. If I want to visit you I will have to come in some time," Chichi said, taking a deep breath and crossing the threshold.

Vegeta felt a slight twinge of guilt. Okay, maybe he didn't need to scare Chichi. She was nice enough, back when he'd been alive, and she had been one of three to attend his funeral. Fine. He'd hold off on his plan until Chichi left. He'd still scare Bulma out of here before she spent a single night in his bed.

He watched them carry in boxes of Bulma's things, critiquing her cutesy knickknacks loudly to himself.

"I fucking knew you'd be a 'picture frames with flowers' kind of woman," he spat at her.

"Hey, where do you want this?" Goku asked her, carrying a large television through the front door.

Vegeta's eyes went wide, mouth dropping open at the sheer size of the thing. They'd taken his television when they moved his things out, and his only exposure to one had been bits and pieces he'd managed to hear through the wall of Chichi's place. At least one good thing could come out of this intrusion. He couldn't get it working on his own, but maybe he could get her to plug it in before he scared her away...

Bulma ordered them pizza that afternoon when they had carried all of her boxes in, and after a quick meal they left her alone to finish unpacking. She sat cross-legged in his living room, pushing books into his bookcase. She seemed to have some kind of sorting system, but it wasn't alphabetical, and he couldn't make any sense of the technical engineering titles. He bided his time, pacing back and forth and waiting for her to get tired of the silence.

Finally, Bulma walked over to the television and plugged it in, adjusting the antennae until a clear signal came through.

Yes.

Vegeta stood directly in her way, not that she noticed, watching as some talk-show came to life. The music was insipid and the smiles were fake, and he knew that this would have been the sort of show he would have considered the lowest form of entertainment when he was alive. The phrase 'I wouldn't be caught dead watching that' flitted across his consciousness as he soaked up every moment of the inane drivel, just seeing. The host was wearing purple, and gods he missed purple after not seeing it for a few years. Why had he always resented colorful furniture so much? 

Bulma eventually yawned and stretched behind him, and he glanced back at her. Damn, she'd distracted him. He had a job to do.

She hopped up from her place on the rug and headed into the kitchen, wrapping up the few pieces of pizza Goku had left uneaten to put them away. Vegeta followed her, focusing his energy in his hands just in time to shove a box of her cutlery off of the counter.

Bulma jumped, stepping back as knives and forks scattered around her feet. She looked toward him, and for a hot second he could have sworn she looked right into his eyes. "Hey, there were knives in there, you dick! You could have cut me!"

"Good!" He shouted back silently. "I want you out of my apartment now!"

"Unbelievable," she grumbled, grabbing the cutlery and putting them in the sink. "I am going to shower and go to bed. I sleep like a rock, so good luck waking me up." 

She strode confidently into the bathroom, and he followed her. She switched on her shower and he felt phantom heat begin to pool in his cheeks. He backed up quickly as she started to get undressed, stumbling back through the wall.

"I hope you get an eyeful, Creep," Bulma called, not knowing the ghost in question was a stuttering mess in the hallway.

"Vulgar woman," he muttered, waiting for her to get dressed. He listened until her shower turned off, and then waited thirty seconds before he peeked back through the door. 

She was wrapped in a towel, brushing her teeth at the sink. He positioned himself just behind her shoulder, so she would have to see him. He brought what was left of his energy up through his neck, and took a deep breath, focusing on the rage that powered him.

Bulma spat out her toothpaste and looked up. She let out a small scream, dropping her toothbrush and whipping her head around.

He grinned maliciously, expecting her to panic any second now.

"Congratulations, you jumpscared me," she chuckled. She had the audacity to chuckle. She picked up her toothbrush, turning back to the sink. "Is that what you look like? Not bad, I was picturing something more… ghoulish, I guess. You're kind of cute," she winked into the mirror.

He scoffed. "I am not kind of… shut up!"

"Goodnight, Mr.Ghost," she said, striding towards his bedroom.

"Stay out of my room!" He hollered, panting from the effort of showing himself.

Bulma folded back her blankets and laid on his mattress, switching out the small light she'd put on the nightstand.

"That's my bed!" He snapped, standing over her. "If you think you'll push me out of it you're wrong!"

Bulma didn't move, clearly not hearing him.

Vegeta growled, laying down on the other side of the mattress. He couldn't sleep, but it was the principle of the thing. A few times in the night he managed to flick her light on, but she didn't stir. True to her word, nothing seemed to wake her from a deep sleep. 

He drummed his fingers on his arms as he stared up at the ceiling, thinking out loud as he'd gotten in the habit of doing since his extended solitude began.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Woman? Ghosts are inherently terrifying. Is there some malfunction in your brain that makes you unafraid of things that can hurt you?"

_ Would you hurt her, though? _ He thought. Only now did he realize that his expert haunting tactics really only added up to making his presence known. He had never had to actually hurt anyone. 

He gritted his teeth.

\-----------------

Vegeta waited for Bulma to wake up, noting that she didn't have any sort of alarm clock. She finally stirred, lounging lazily for another fifteen minutes before she finally sat up and put on her slippers, shuffling toward her dresser. He stepped back down the hall, ready to try the idea he'd been brewing for hours.

Vegeta headed for the front door, wrapping his hand around the doorknob with careful concentration. This was going to take a lot of energy. The temperature of his palm rose, steadily, and his strain showed. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths like he was giving blood rather than touching a door.

Bulma got ready quickly, making only a piece of buttered toast to scarf down as she grabbed a bag and headed towards her front door. He poured the last of his energy into his hand. If she wanted real danger, he'd give her real danger.

Bulma grabbed the doorknob he held and let out a shout, dropping her bag and jerking backwards in pain. The knob was hot, well above a hundred degrees thanks to his efforts. At first he grinned, happy to know that she had learned a lesson about what a ghost could really do.

That faded quickly. "What the fuck," Bulma spat. "What the fuck is your problem?" She went to the bathroom sink, running her burn under cool water. His face fell as he followed her, watching her grab burn cream from a first aid kit she'd thrown under the sink when unpacking.

He stared at her burn as she treated it, and he stretched out his own phantom limbs. It looked like it hurt, and he struggled to remember what that felt like. Just like purple, touch had been lost to him. Pleasure, pain, after a while he couldn't remember either. But burns… he knew burns. 

The lingering smell of charred flesh, the antiseptic scent of the medicine; he could suddenly remember it all so vividly that it made him sick. His plan didn't feel as justified as it had before. He pressed his hands to his face, leaving her alone as he went to collect himself on the couch. It didn't help that the effort he'd exerted left him feeling completely empty, less tethered somehow, like he could blow away in the wind.

Bulma wrapped a bandage around her palm, and he could hear her still talking at him. "Chichi said she thought you were the guy who used to live here. That would make you human, so you should be ashamed of yourself."

"Yes Woman, I heard you, stop yammering," he muttered to himself.

She went to work, with curtains up and the lights off.

He sat alone in the dark.

\--------------

Vegeta peered down at the blueprints spread across the coffee table, trying to understand any of them. She certainly seemed to get something from the jumbles of lines and numbers, as she was pouring over them in depth, chewing the back of her pencil as she did so. The television was on, the same insipid talk show from before playing again.

He was rested and recharged from that morning, and ready to remind her she was an intruder. Vegeta sat down next to the table, grabbed the edge of her blueprint, and yanked it off the table.

Bulma jumped and gasped, but it quickly turned into a growl. "Oh, come on! I'm trying to get some work done." She grabbed it off the floor and flattened it back out, moving to mark something on it as he held it down.

He grabbed at it again, this time managing to rip the corner in the process.

"Whatever, Man, I have copies. This is just for my own notes. Rip it to pieces if you want, I've got it all memorized."

Vegeta glowered, moving on to something else. The remote was right next to her, and with a good push from one finger he managed to switch it off.

She just reached over and turned it on again.

He switched it off.

"That's not scary!" She snapped, throwing her hands up. She grabbed the remote and turned it back on. "You're just annoying. Look, I need noise to work, I always have. I don't care what is on. You can obviously fuck with the remote, why don't you pick a chanel and leave me alone?"

Vegeta stared at her. The idea of picking a station hadn't even crossed his mind. She slapped the remote flat in the middle of the table in invitation. After a moment's pause, he reached toward it.

Bulma glanced up when the television changed channels, first once, then again, then once more before he stopped on a police drama. She nodded approvingly. "I don't mind this show. Just let me work or I'll unplug the damn thing, okay?"

Vegeta sat far too close to the television, not paying attention to her. He'd seen this show many times before he died, and even remembered this particular episode. The familiarity was shocking to his system, and he drank up every moment of it. At one point he heard Bulma put away her blueprints and he worried she would change the channel or shut it off, but she didn't. She just headed to the kitchen and started cooking herself dinner, leaving him be.

Just as his show ended, she spoke. "Hey, can you… can you eat?"

He stared at her.

She went on. "I mean you're in my apartment. If you could eat and I didn't offer you anything I'd feel pretty bad. I know you can hit things. If you can eat, bang on the coffee table or something."

He didn't move.

After a moment she nodded. "Okay then, you can't eat. Maybe that's why you're such a dick all the time. I'd be mad too if I couldn't taste how good this spaghetti is going to be." She set a pot on the stove to cook her noodles.

He chuckled once, and then wiped the smirk off his face, turning back to the television. He liked to think that even if he could eat, he wouldn't have tapped on the table. He wasn't her trained animal, he had no obligations to respond on demand. Still, the memory of what spaghetti tasted like was bugging him now. He wandered over to the kitchen, hoping that if he stared at it long enough it would bring a clearer taste back to him.

Bulma was making her own sauce, which he hadn't been expecting. The way she'd been talking with Chichi he had assumed she had serious money, and he'd thought she would be unable to do anything to fend for herself. He watched her lay out mushrooms, garlic, basil, and almost everything else he'd use if he were making the same dish. He glanced back at the stove and winced, looking at how high she'd set the burner. At that pace, it'd boil much too fast and overcook after she finally turned the heat down and put a lid on it.

He rolled his eyes, glancing towards the television and thinking about the last hour of entertained bliss he'd experienced. Fine. He could help her this one time. He reached over to the stove and lowered the dial to a more appropriate setting.

She didn't notice. She was quietly slicing her herbs, and with a pang of guilt he saw that she was having trouble gripping the knife with her injured hand. He left her there, going back to change the channel again. She looked towards him when the station changed, but just shrugged it off and went back to work.

He was deeply engrossed in a news program when he heard her moan.

"Holy shit," Bulma muttered from her seat at the kitchen island. "This is delicious. I usually overdo the noodles. You're good luck, Mr.Ghost."

He snorted, coming to take a peek at how the food looked.

Bulma ate quietly for a few minutes, eyes downturned as she was clearly lost in thought. "So," she said finally, "I feel like I'm just talking to myself. The only indication I've had that you can even understand me has been the TV changing. If you can hear me, if you can actually understand me, I need you to show me. For my sanity. Please."

"Fuck you, Woman," he said, arms crossed.

Bulma waited, then sighed, dropping her head into her hand. "Maybe I am just crazy. Look, I could… What if we leave the TV on for you all day tomorrow? You seem to like it. I mean you can turn it on yourself, but if I really wanted to, I could just unplug it. I imagine that could be a little harder to fix."

Vegeta sighed, unwilling to give up something that would alleviate his boredom. He knocked once on the island, sitting down next to her.

Bulma jumped at the sound, covering her face. He raised an eyebrow; his best laid plans she just shrugged off, but she could be scared by sounds he was asked to make? This woman made no damn sense.

"Jesus," she muttered. "Okay, one knock for yes, two for no. What do… what do you even ask a ghost?" She said to herself, drumming her fingers against the counter. "Can I assume all the creepy things I've seen happen in here have been you?"

He knocked once.

"I figured as much. And it's because you want me to leave?"

He knocked again, harder this time.

"But why?" She scoffed.

"Because you don't belong here," he snapped.

She continued on, not hearing him. "I mean how busy can you possibly be? I don't know anything about ghosts, but are you here in the apartment all the time?"

He knocked once.

"Doesn't that get lonely?"

He didn't answer.

She held up her bandaged hand. "Are you going to do this again?"

He knocked twice.

"Well, good." She bit the inside of her lip, then slapped her hands on the counter, standing up and heading for a box that had not been unpacked yet. "Okay, let's do this the scientific way."

He quirked up an eyebrow, watched her dig out a notebook. She slapped it on the counter with a pencil, opening it up.

"So, basics of what I know. You are a ghost. You don't want me here. You never leave this apartment. You do not intend to hurt me again. Did you used to live here?"

He knocked once, but grumbled. "I still do."

"Okay. So you're human then. Or you were. So, assume for a minute I'm not going anywhere. Is there anything else you want? Like could I bring you something to make me being here a little less awful?"

He blinked. It hadn't even crossed his mind to bargain with an intruder. Want had just become a constant desire since his death, one that he never had any illusions of sating. Who would offer favors to a ghost?

Bulma seemed to take his silence as a no, and she sighed and closed the book. He slammed his fist on the counter in a 'yes', so loud she jumped.

"Oh. We're in business then." She opened the notebook and placed the pencil on it. "Can you write what you want?"

Vegeta sighed deeply. He had already used his energy to the point of exhaustion tonight, and it took more and more for him to even answer her questions. Picking something up, even a pencil, took a lot of concentration and power. He tried anyway, grabbing uselessly at the instrument. It rolled slightly to the left, but never raised from the counter.

Bulma stared at the pencil with rapt attention as it rolled. "Hmm," she hummed, tapping her fingers. "That's a no, you can't. I'll have to think on this. We could do it the hard way, I could list the alphabet until I reach a certain letter and let you tap at it, but that might get messy, and it'd take a long time." She glanced at the clock. "I have to work in the morning. Let me sleep on it for the night. Peacefully, please, with no creepy faces in my mirror or loud bangs, I want to make sure you don't wake Chichi or Baba up. I'll come up with a system and tell you about it after work."

"Fine, Woman," he acquiesced with a quiet knock. He didn't have the strength left for anything else.

Bulma drummed her hands near his. "Alright, truce made." She washed her dishes quickly and made sure the remote was by television, turning it down only slightly before she headed off towards the bathroom. 

"Good night, Mr. Ghost," she called back to him.

"Good night, Bitch," he mumbled half-heartedly, sitting with folded legs next to the television.

\---------------------

Vegeta sat alone at the kitchen island the next afternoon, taking deep breaths as he stared at the pencil. She'd left the pencil and notebook out for him, and after many hours of resting (mostly staring slack-jawed at the television) he was ready to try it again. With a final bracing breath he reached down and grasped the pencil firmly, lifting and putting it against the paper. He made a single line for a single letter, and then the pencil fell through his fingers, bouncing off the island and down onto the tiled floor.

"Damn it," he grumbled, rubbing his face. He knew what he wanted to ask for, or more appropriately the hundreds of things he wanted to ask for, but if he couldn't tell her what they were this whole thing was pointless.

He heard her keys jingling in the lock, earlier than he had expected her, and suddenly she was bursting in, carrying bags under her arms. Her hair was messy, tied back in a loose bun, and her eyes glowed with barely contained excitement.

"Mr. Ghost?" She asked, as soon as she had the door closed.

He knocked on the counter, and she strode right for him.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about last night. I hadn't even considered the scientific ramifications of actually contacting a ghost, I just thought you'd make my food spoil faster and scream a lot, not be able to intelligently respond. Do you know how many paranormal researchers would kill to get their hands on the opportunity we have? That's never been my field, but still." 

She started pulling books out and stacking them on the counter, and he snorted at the titles. 'Understanding Life After Death', 'Prevailing Theories on Apparitions', 'In Defense Of Psychic Mediums'. She had certainly gone all out to find homework. She pulled something else from the bag, and he fought down his immediate derision of how silly it looked.

"Yes, I bought a Ouija board," Bulma said, setting it on the counter. "Hokey or not, it's exactly what we need; a flat surface with letters on it." She popped the box open. "Okay, I was thinking. Last night you couldn't pick up the pencil, and your knocking got softer. Do you like… run out of juice after a while?"

He knocked again.

Bulma slapped her hands together. "Fucking nailed it."

He chuckled once. Her enthusiasm would have been infectious, if he'd been a different kind of man.

She laid the board out on the counter, but didn't set the planchette down. "Then don't bother with this hunk of plastic. If we are rationing out how much power it takes to move something, then the smaller the object the better." She hopped up and went to her cupboard, opening a box of cereal and taking out a single piece of it. She placed it on the board, right over 'hello'.

"We won't bother with the 'rules' of the game, most people don't have a guarantee that someone will answer. Just push the cereal onto a letter, and wait for me to write it down before you move on. What do you want me to get for you?"

Vegeta nodded, rubbing his hands once as he nudged it slowly.

Bulma grinned, waiting until it stopped. "Got it. 'A'," she said, jotting the letter down. She worked her way through his directions, writing as she went.

He stopped, and she read it aloud. "A-L-B-U-M. You want music? What do you like?" She smirked. "Grateful Dead?"

He rolled his eyes, moving the piece of cereal again.

"P-H-O, oh wait, photo? A photo album."

He knocked once.

"Like, any photo album? You mean a specific one? Where would I find that?"

C-H-I-C-H-I

\------------------------

Bulma rapped on the door to Chichi's apartment, and the giggling she'd accidentally overheard stopped immediately. She politely pretended not to hear anything as she heard her friend chastising her boyfriend to put on pants. A moment later the brunette opened the door, her normally perfect bun just slightly off-kilter.

"Bulma! You're home very early today," she said, straightening her dress microscopically.

Goku walked up behind Chichi like he'd barely noticed they had a guest. "Oh, hi Bulma. We're just packing Chichi's stuff to move to my place."

Bulma sighed softly, letting them believe they'd fooled her. "Good, glad I didn't interrupt anything. Do you have a moment to talk, Chichi?"

"Go ahead, guys," Goku said, squeezing past them. "I'll go pick us up some food."

Chichi kissed him goodbye, but her eyes were on Bulma. She leaned closer. "Is it your Dad?"

"No, he's fine," she shook her head. "I just want to talk to you."

Chichi poured Bulma a cup of tea, and they sat in her warm living room and started to chat. Chichi's apartment really did resemble her own, Bulma thought, but more 'lived in', pun notwithstanding. Boxes were stacked along the walls; Chichi would be moving out in only a few weeks, and it would be a shame to have to drive all the way up to the Pauzo development to see her friend. Goku's grandfather had left him a large house towards the top of the hill, and it was time for them to officially move in together. She was sure she'd get an invite to be a bridesmaid any day now.

"We'll have to make sure we get together at least every few weeks," Chichi continued their conversation from a moment ago. "Maybe I can drive into town every other Friday night for a girl's night?"

Bulma was tapping her fingers distracted on her cup of tea.

"Bulma?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry Chichi. I just remembered, as long as I'm here… do you remember the guy who lived in my apartment before me?"

Chichi paled. "I was right, wasn't I? It's haunted, you're miserable. I'm so sorry, I tried to warn you--"

"No, no, it's not haunted," Bulma lied, trying to calm her friend down. "I was just… morbidly curious. What did you say his name was?"

"Vegeta," Chichi said, eyebrows furrowing together uncomfortably. "I don't like to think about it."

"You weren't close, were you?"

"No," she shook her head. "But no one should have to die like that."

"What happened to him?"

"They say it was a break-in. He had a baseball bat to defend himself, but the burglar brought a gun. Whoever it was fled the scene as soon as they shot him, they've never had a lead. That's what the police said." Chichi didn't look up, but Bulma could see her grimacing.

"Do you not believe that?"

"He had his shoes on. Vegeta did. They said he must have still been dressed from earlier because he worked late, but work boots and sweatpants? Besides, I had seen him a few hours before at around one in the morning, and I swear he had different clothes and shoes on. I just don't think he'd have put shoes on to stop someone from breaking into his apartment. By the time we checked the tracks in the snow there was no way to tell which ones were the burglar's and which ones were the police. I just think there's more to it. I suppose I should just be grateful we haven't had a break-in since."

Bulma raised an eyebrow. "You saw him at one in the morning? Were you two…?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no, nothing like that," she blushed. "We were just neighbirs. Actually… the night Vegeta died was the same night I met Goku."

"Really?"

"We met at the gym at like four in the afternoon and just got talking, and then he got hungry--"

"Shocking."

"So we went out to eat, and then we went up to his place… I didn't get home until late," she said, avoiding Bulma's eyes.

"On the first date, Chichi," Bulma teased, grinning.

She cleared her throat. "I just… I wished I had known Vegeta better, especially after I found out about his family."

"What about them?"

"He didn't have one. They passed away before he did, we only know now because they had to do a background check to print his obituary, we didn't even know how old he was. He was only thirty-one, and had nobody left."

Bulma tried to look nonchalant. "Hmm, I wonder what he looked like. You don't happen to have any pictures or anything do you?"

"No, I don't think I-- oh!" Chichi said, snapping her fingers. "Actually I do have a few of him when he was younger," she hopped up and went to her half emptied bookcase, pulling out the small leather album.

Bulma took the book from her, trying to look panicked. She had half believed that she had just gone insane, but Chichi actually having a photo album of his was physical evidence that her ghost was very real. She opened it up, finding pictures that were clearly old but very well preserved.

The photos all seemed to be of the same family, at various points throughout a few years. For a moment she thought the grown man in the photos was Vegeta, based on who she had seen in the mirror, but the differences were enough for her to realize it must be his father. Two children appeared repeatedly, swinging on playgrounds and opening gifts on Christmas, and she decided the older looking one had to be Vegeta.

"What happened to them?"

"I don't know," Chichi said. "The obituary didn't say. Just that they preceded him in death. It was short."

"Say, Chichi," Bulma shrugged, pretending to be uncommitted to her idea, "since you're moving out, could I hold onto this? It seems fitting that it would stay in his old apartment."

Chichi smiled softly. "Sure, just promise not to throw it out. It feels… important. Like, if I died, and that was all I had, I would want someone to keep it."

Bulma hugged Chichi on her way out, promising not to throw the album away. Meanwhile, a frustrated ghost leaned against the wall of his apartment, wishing they would fucking speak up.

\----------------------

As soon as Bulma walked through the door he was at her side, imagining he could feel his heart skip a beat as he saw what she held. Chichi had kept the album. He'd had very little hope that she had kept her resolution to hold onto it, and even less that Bulma would successfully find it.

"Hey, Mr. Gh-- uh, Vegeta, I'm home," she called. "You were right, she had your photo album." She brought it to the coffee table, setting it down as the cover immediately flew open.

"Would you like to use the Ouija Board to message me again tonight?"

He knocked once.

"Then how about you let me turn the pages for you? It'll help you save up your juice."

He paused, reluctant to let her invade his space in such a private moment. He knocked once.

"Okay," she said, switching on the television to focus her attention on. "I'll wait thirty seconds before I turn a page. Knock once if you want me to wait longer on any of them."

Bulma was true to her word, counting out each his time to look at each page before she moved on. She kept her eyes deliberately on the television, as if she was giving him privacy. He rolled his eyes at her; as if he actually believed she hadn't looked through it before bringing it to him. 

Vegeta took in each picture he never thought he would see again, with faces long lost to him. He touched a few of them, not that Bulma noticed. He wondered, not the first or thousandth time, where they were. They had no home to haunt anymore.

He half expected her to ask questions, but she didn't. She finished the album, and then flipped it over. "One more time?"

He knocked once.


	3. Chapter 3

Bulma yawned, fumbling to put her keys in the lock. It was late. Moving Chichi to her new place had taken much longer than Bulma's move had; the woman liked her knickknacks. Before she could manage to get her key in the door she heard it unlock from the inside, and she gratefully took the help, pushing it open.

The lights in the living room, along with the television, were always left on now. She had only just closed the door behind her when she heard three sharp knocks on the coffee table.

"I just got home, Vegeta, give me a minute," she rolled her eyes. She went straight for the coffee table, looking down at their set up. The Ouija board was now always open on the table, and they had added a few words around it in post-it notes for efficiency's sake. The piece of cereal moved quickly.

M-O-V-E-D-?

Bulma nodded stepping away to the kitchen before answering. "Yeah, we got her all settled. Goku's place is nice, but it was pretty empty until we got her stuff in there. I swear they're made for each other."

She made herself a sandwich, carrying it back with her to eat while she waited for his answer.

S-H-E C-O-U-L-D D-O B-E-T-T-E-R

Bulma snorted. "Hey, I like Goku."

L-O-U-D M-O-R-O-N

"Oh you're just cranky because I got home late. I don't feel like going to bed yet. You want to watch a movie?"

He knocked once.

"Oh, how about  _ Cry Baby _ ?"

F-U-C-K N-O

She stuck out her tongue in his general direction. "Fine, pick one out. I might pass out on the couch anyway. I'll take a quick shower first," she hopped up. "No peeking, Mister."

Y-O-U W-I-S-H

Bulma let out a snort that was too close to a giggle, then stopped herself, heading towards the bathroom.

\--------------------

Vegeta sat cross-legged by her movie collection, looking it over appraisingly. Well,  _ their _ movie collection, technically. Bulma had asked for other things he wanted her to bring him, and the list he had was long, considering he'd had two years to think of it. To his surprise and benefit, it turned out his human benefactor was rich, and whatever he could think of she could probably afford. Most everything he wanted was media, like movies he missed or hadn't gotten to see, or books he'd never read the end of before they were taken after his death. He had some other requests that stood out though; something purple, a living plant, a small rubber ball to work on his coordination.

Now that he had a reason to manifest other than 'scare people', it was getting easier and easier to gain strength. 'Conversations' with the Ouija Board were taking less and less out of him, leaving him energy to do other things. His biggest trick right now was holding two things in the air simultaneously, a feat that would have been impossible a month ago. Bulma had been recording each accomplishment, her scientific side still fascinated by his abilities. It was easy enough to reach out and knock down a particular movie.

Bulma came back in her pajamas, going to pick his movie up off the floor and pop it in. " _ Pulp Fiction _ ? Again?"

He knocked once.

"Whatever," she yawned, starting the movie and unfolding a large blanket from the back of the couch. "I'm gonna doze, just keep it down until I fall asleep, then you can turn it up."

Vegeta sat on the end of the couch, just beyond her feet, trying to dissect one of his new favorite movies again. He'd loved films before, and this one had been too new for him to see before he died. Bulma may have been getting tired of it, she passed out after only twenty minutes. _ I should probably let her pick one next time _ , he thought with a grimace. He could make it through one chick flick if it meant better movies in the future.

_ You're spoiled _ , a voice in his head whispered.  _ A month ago you'd have killed for even half a chick flick.  _ He knew that was true. Now that he had the option of new entertainment, he was quickly forgetting the value of it. There was a nagging fear in his mind now that if she left suddenly, she'd take everything with her. He'd be alone, in the dark, again.

She'd won. He didn't want her to go.

So far his concept of 'life' after death had been more about 'existence' after death. He thought about his muder, he mourned what could have been, and he found ways to cling to his life, like keeping people from moving their things into his space. But now he could pretend. Now he could act like he was moving forward, as if he was just Bulma's reclusive roommate who didn't say much but still stayed busy. It was beyond addicting. To go back in the dark now would be like a second death.

Bulma rolled in her sleep, burrowing her face into the cushions.  _ She must really like to fall asleep with noise o _ n, he decided, because more and more she'd been wanting to pass out while they sat in the living room together. He hadn't laid beside her while she slept since that first night; it felt odd, now that they actually spoke to each other. Her shift unsettled the blanket she'd draped over herself, and it slid off of her and onto the ground.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at it, suddenly curious. If he could lift two objects now, perhaps he could lift one larger object? He stepped over to the blanket, rubbing his hands together and taking a breath as he focused carefully. He grabbed the blanket from the floor and pulled it up quickly, placing it back over her sleeping form in one fluid motion.

"Yes!" He shouted silently. He wasn't sure exactly what he was moving towards, but he was getting there. If he could pick things up and touch them at will, then what did it matter if he was dead? He'd always preferred to stay at home anyway.

"I'll tell you about the blanket tomorrow, Woman," he said to himself, sitting back down to enjoy his film. "It was  _ easy _ . I'm not even tired." 

After a moment, a sudden realization passed over his face.

"That wasn't about covering you up," he explained. "I just wanted to see if I could do it."

She slept on.

"I'm serious. You're a grown woman. I've no interest in coddling you."

He grimaced at what he imagined her response would be, then reached over towards the blanket. He gripped it hard in one hand, and considered pulling it off of her again to make a point. He changed his mind, and went back to his movie.

\-------------------

"What else do you think is real?" Bulma asked. She sat upside down on the sofa, feet dangling off of the back of it.

The notebook laying on her coffee table moved slightly. The pencil next to it lifted very slowly off of the table in Vegeta's hand as he focused all of his energy into his hand. The lead touched the paper, and in slow, shaky writing, a message appeared.

_ What? _

Bulma peered at the paper upside down, reading as he wrote. "I mean, you're a  _ ghost _ . If ghosts are real it opens up the door to other entities. Are demons real? Angels? Vampires?"

_ Vampires? _

"That was a joke… well, half a joke. I don't know, what are the rules anymore?"

_ I am a dead human. Not fucking Dracula. _

"Dracula was based on a real person. It's not completely insane."

_ You're fucking with me. _

She smirked. "Little bit. Are you tired yet?"

He was, a bit. Their practice conversations took a lot out of him, but he was improving. 

_ I can continue. _

"Okay, if you don't want to think about the possibility of other supernatural beings then we could…" she trailed off.

_ Spit it out. _

She had the decency to look awkward. "I don't know the etiquette for this. Is it rude to ask a ghost how they died?"

He paused, considering that.  _ I was shot. _

"Well yeah, I know that much. Chichi told me. But she said she really doubted that there was a break-in, and there were some inconsistencies at the crime scene. What happened that night?"

Vegeta waited, thinking solemnly. This was far from the first time he'd thought about his death. He had thought through every moment he remembered intensely, he had his murder's face etched into his mind. But what good would it do? He didn't know the man's name, and he hadn't seen him come back around the complex. The only thing that telling Bulma would do would be to make her worry about it, and maybe get mixed up in something that could get her killed herself.

_ Just a burglary. _

Her face fell, and it made him snort.

_ Does my early death bore you? _

"No, sorry, I just… I guess I hoped it was more, because it's such a stupid reason to kill someone. I'm sorry that happened to you."

Vegeta set his jaw, not sure what to say to that. He used his best excuse out of the conversation.

_ Too tired to continue. _

She snorted. "Yeah, right. Convenient." Then she paused, a grin sliding over her face. "Oh, good, if you're too tired to continue you must be too tired to complain, right? A night full of showtunes and Sex And The City it is."

He rolled his eyes.

\-------------------

Vegeta paced through the apartment, ignoring the neverending buzz on the television. Where the hell _was_ _she_?

Two days. Two days ago she had left for work at her normal time, and she hadn't been back since. How  _ dare _ she? How dare she just leave and not warn him she'd be gone so long? And how dare he  _ care _ ?

It was all about his own interests, he tried to tell himself, not even believing it for a moment. He had no choice but to face the fact that he was worried. Afraid. He needed her to live here in order to keep the television on and stay busy, but beyond that… She could be hurt, or she could be being held prisoner, or she could be trapped as a ghost herself far away. He'd written several choice words to her in their notebook she kept on her nightstand, but knew all of it was pointless rambling until she finally got home to read it.

The key turned in the lock, and he spun around. He pounded once on the wall, yelling uselessly. "It's about damn time, Woman!"

Bulma came in, but she didn't react to the noise he'd made. He paused, taking in the sight of her weary, red-rimmed eyes and disheveled clothing. She dropped her purse unceremoniously on the ground, heading straight for the bathroom without calling out her usual greeting to him.

Vegeta watched her carefully, unsure how to proceed. He'd never seen her like this, devoid of the massive spirit and energy she seemed to take with her everywhere. He wanted answers, whatever they were. He grabbed her purse and lobbed it gently in front of the bathroom door, just as a reminder that he was here and she needed to come check the notebook or the Ouija Board.

Bulma took a long, long shower, and he waited by the door to listen. Finally she stepped out of the bathroom, and her foot hit her purse. She frowned.

"Not now, Vegeta." Bulma gathered her robe around her and walked back to her bedroom, slipping under the covers and laying her still damp hair against the pillow.

He'd thought not knowing where she was had been torture. This was worse. He had no voice to ask her anything if she chose not to speak to him. He pivoted the notebook towards her to get her attention, grabbing the pencil with his stored up energy.

_ What happened? _

She glanced at it, and then closed her eyes. 

He waited a moment, getting more impatient. Just before he tapped on the nightstand she spoke.

"My father is dead."

He stopped, grimacing. He'd expected as much. He knew what loss looked like, and it was coming off of her in waves.

_ I'm sorry. _

She glanced at the writing. "Yeah. It is what it is."

He waited for her to keep speaking, but after a few minutes he started walking away. She spoke just before he went through the door.

"Are you still here?"

He knocked once.

She laughed joylessly. "My mother made me stay the night. She said I shouldn't go home to an empty apartment right now. How the hell do I explain you to her? It's fine Mom, I have my dead roommate to keep me company."

He shrugged, not knowing what to say even if she could hear him.

Bulma stared at the wall. "I just thought he had more time. They said he did."

He picked up the pencil.  _ We always think there's more time. _

She stared at it. "Do you think… does everyone who dies turn into a ghost?"

_ I don't know. _

"Is there heaven? Is there hell? Is he stuck like you?"

_ I don't know. I have never seen another ghost. _

She reached out suddenly and shoved the notebook off of the stand. "Then what  _ fucking _ good is talking to you? If even dead people know nothing about death then you can fuck off."

He gritted his teeth, wishing he was angrier than he was. Bulma closed her eyes, but too tightly. He recognized the expression. She wasn't trying to sleep, she was trying to block out the world, reset, go back to a few days before when it was a brighter place.

Vegeta stepped around the bed, sitting down on the empty side. This was going to be difficult, and take all of his energy, if he managed it. He'd gathered plenty in the rage he'd had before she came in, a rage that had been thoroughly deflated. He laid down behind her, slipping his incorporeal arms around her form, and pressing his chest against her back. Then, all at once, he poured his energy into those arms and the front of his body.

Bulma gasped, eyes popping open and turning to look behind her to see nothing. She could feel him, he knew, because he could feel her too. She was warm against his skin that hadn't felt real warmth in so long. He felt the texture of the terrycloth of her bathrobe, savoring it's gentle scratch against his hands. In an instant he knew that he was a hopeless addict, and it pissed him off. He was never going to get enough of touching her, and the quicker he accepted it the better 'life' would be from now on. He went reluctantly into this new addiction, but he went.

Bulma touched the space she felt his hand, and they felt her fingertips graze over his cold fingers. She laid a hand over his, and closed her eyes again.


End file.
